


Props (teaser)

by inkiestdawn



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Humour, Smut, Swearing, teaser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 19:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4362179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkiestdawn/pseuds/inkiestdawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only lodgings you and the Winchesters can find is a single room at a bed and breakfast that apparently has a doily fetish. Cas takes a liking to it with his mind on the possibilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Props (teaser)

The thought of another night sleeping curled up in the driver’s seat of the Impala, Dean snoring beside you, Sam stretched out in the back, is enough to make you scream. It’s not the company but the stiffness in your back and neck, the aches in your legs, and the fact that you’re tired that make you want to throw at least a mini tantrum. Just a little swearing, some air swings, a jump or two.

This town was the only stop on the way home and after very little resistance from anyone, you all decided to stop for the night. Right now a soft bed, hard bed, fuck, even a couch would do.

“Right, thanks,” Sam says into his cell, a hard edge to his mouth telling you all you need to know; no vacancy. Shit.

The three of you are standing outside of a bar. You’re leaning wearily against the door of a phone booth. Yes, a phone booth. It’s telling when the town you’re in actually has one. It’s the type of town that only has one run down motel. The lack of vacancy is not surprising considering that it’s the “60th Annual Fall Harvest Festival”. Seriously, who would want to miss this shit? Truck pulls, baked goods, chicken beauty pageants, whatever the fuck else they do at fall harvest festivals. You rip a poster off the wall before Dean could see ‘Pie Eating Contest’. You want out of here as soon as possible but, preferably, after a good night’s sleep.

“Anything else?” Sam asks, looking down at the screen of his cell, one hand pushing back his hair.

“What about this bed & breakfast,” Dean suggests, he stops flipping through the pages of a phone book, pointing at a listing with his index finger, “It looks alright,” he turns to you, “at least there should be a clean bathroom.” He wriggles his eyebrows.

You let out a sigh and nod, “Yes please, anything with a shower and a bed.”

***  
“Well,” Dean says with a slow smirk, “fuck me sideways and call me Ethel.” 

He pats the fluffy duvet before turning and dropping down onto the bed. He bounces, flounders a moment when the mattress gives more than he had anticipated, but quickly regains his composure and grins. The duvet cover, like just about everything else in the room, is covered in a flower print. Large, pink flowers. 

The ‘English Rose’ bed and breakfast had only one room available.

“We’re very busy this time of year,” a matronly woman chirped when they inquired about vacancy, “you’re lucky one of our guests had to cancel at the last minute”.

Yes, lucky.

Right now though, you can forgive the décor. The bed looks incredibly enticing and the bathroom at the end of the hall, though shared, is clean.

The room is all flower prints, lace, doilies, ruffles, and dusty rose. Flower print wallpaper, dusty rose carpet, a white lace canopy around the queen sized bed, and doilies. Lots of ‘em. On top of the dresser, bed side tables, even the small, black television tucked in the corner is adorned with a single doily. 

“Now this is the place to bring a date,” Dean beams, bouncing on the bed. It squeaks in protest. He’s clearly running on adrenaline and looking for a nightcap.

“Pft. The last time this bed was involved in any reproducing was when the flowers up and multiplied. No chance of any fucking happening in here,” you mutter, “I can’t imagine anyone being able to get it up while surrounded by this much…” you gesture to the room, “pink.”

Dean chuckles, “Darlin’, I can get it up anytime.”

“Get what up?” Castiel asks, his gravelly voice coming from behind you, unexpected, and making you jump.

“Jesus pickle fuck Cas, could you not do that?” you press a hand to your chest as though the gesture can slow your racing heart.

Dean laughs. He rocks back, using the momentum to push himself forward and up off of the soft bed. He crosses the room, thumps Cas on the shoulder, and asks, “Join us for a beer, buddy?”

Castiel doesn’t respond. You turn to look at the angel. His lips are pressed into a thin line, gaze fixed on something behind you.

Dean grins playfully, “You into settes Cas? Have a furniture kink?” He bobs his head, mouth open in a silent, puppet like laugh, proud of himself for the lame zinger. His smile falters when Castiel doesn’t respond.

“Cas?”

“Uh,” the angel snaps to, blinking rapidly, wetting his lips with his tongue nervously, “I believe that’s a fainting couch, Dean.”

Dean frowns, “Yeah alright,” he looks over his shoulder at the item in question. “Well, I could use a beer, we’ll figure out sleeping arrangements later? That, uh, fainting couch looks just about your size, Y/N”, he quips.

“Absolutely, that’ll free up the bed for you and moose to snuggle up tight and keep each other warm,” you tease, winking at the hunter. 

Dean scowls, “You can snuggle with…you can keep warm,” he searches the room for inspiration, muttering, “doilies, so many doilies.”

Castiel stands rigidly at the end of the bed, his back to you.

“Cas? Buddy?” Dean barks.

Castiel jerks, turning stiffly. 

“Yes?” he says, his eyes unfocused. He looks around the room, gaze never quite focusing or settling.

“You coming?” Dean cocks his head towards the door. He shifts from foot to foot restlessly, still buzzing with the rush of a successful hunt.

“In a moment,” Cas says, fingers trailing over the velvety, pink fabric of the couch.

The corners of Dean’s mouth turn down, lines forming between his eyes, expression somewhere between mirth and confusion. After a beat, he shrugs and turns for the door, “I’ll give you and the uh…inanimate object some privacy.” He opens the door. Over his shoulder, he asks, “You coming Y/N?”

 

“Right behind you,” you say, giving him a reassuring wave when he glances back, “I’m just gonna freshen up.” 

Something on the dresser by the door stops him. Dean picks up a flyer, eyes widening with excitement.

“DID YOU SEE THIS?” he practically squeals, “Harvest festival,” he reads out loud, “A pie eating contest?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time, “Gotta hurry,” Dean mutters, “I’ll call Sam and let him know to meet me there.” Eyes bright with excitement and smiling wide, Dean rushes out, slamming the door behind him. 

You stand still for a moment, aware of the quiet, the stillness of the room now that Dean has gone. The hair on the back of your neck prickles and your heart beat picks up. You feel rather than hear Castiel approach. He stops inches from you, his breath in your hair, the warmth of his body making the muscles in your legs tremble.

On your last hunt, alone with Cas, he made some promises. Promises that made your head spin and your skin tingle.

Behind you now, his right hand brushes over yours, he presses his chest into your back. You feel his lips on your neck and moan, eyes closing in bliss. Head falling back to rest against his, you lean into Castiel, rolling your hips back as his left hand slides over your abdomen and under your shirt. He runs his tongue along the back of your ear, his breath hot on your skin.

You turn to face him, a shudder running through you when you see his eyes; dark, heavy lidded, filled with desire. His nostrils flare as he breathes out heavily, pressing his lips together. You raise your left arm, running your hand around his neck, up into his hair. Looking up, lips parted, you lean forward until your mouth is barely brushing his, breath mingling together.

Castiel presses his lips to yours, the kiss slow, gentle. His body shifts as he shrugs out of his trench coat and jacket. He loosens his tie before grabbing your hips and pushing you back onto the bed, never breaking the kiss.

With one knee, he eases your thighs apart and settles himself on top of you, left hand sliding up under your shirt to cup your breast through the soft fabric of your bra. Your nipple hardens under the attention and Castiel pinches it lightly, moaning deep in his throat.

You bring your knees up, pressing them to his hips, grinding yourself up against him. His erection strains against the front of his pants. You tug at the buttons of his shirt, opening them clumsily, Castiel’s tongue and lips and hands making it hard to focus on undressing him.

“Jesus Cas,” you hiss when he rubs his erection against you, the hardness of him, the pressure hitting you just right.

His shirt hanging open, a testament to a task complete, you touch his chest, his abdomen, hands running up and around his back to pull him to you. You whimper softly when he pulls away, lips tingling and cheeks burning from the stubble on his cheeks. Castiel settles back on his heels, looking down at you, eyes glazed over with lust.

His gaze flicks over to the small couch at the end of the bed. You frown.

“What is it with you and that particular piece of furniture?” you ask as you pop the button on his pants and reach inside. Cas hisses, he tilts his head back and closes his eyes when your fingers find him and wrap tightly around his hard cock. You hum a soft, happy sound at his reaction, spreading your knees out wider at the rush of heat and wetness to your groin. You stroke him, grip tight.

Cas grabs your knees, pressing your legs together against his thighs and rocking his hips into your strokes. His eyes open suddenly and he looks down at you, mouth open in surprise. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when you hear a throat clearing and Dean say, “No fucking in this room, hunh Y/N? Too much pink, is it?”

“Shit,” you hiss, eyes on Castiel, your face burning in shock and embarrassment. 

Cas ducks his head, eyes on his cock, still gripped tight in your hand. With a strange look on his face, his eyes meet yours briefly before he turns to look at Dean over his shoulder, “You just going to stand there and watch or,” he turns back to look at you, tilting his head to the side before saying, “join in?”

It wasn’t even a fully formed thought; just the briefest, quickest image of being naked with Dean and Cas but the angel had picked up on it. You blush even more now, breath shallow. You hear the door swing shut and you swear you can almost hear your heart beating in the silence that follows. 

Then, footsteps.


End file.
